


The Heart Grows Fonder

by Linguini, Lucyemers



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Epistolary, F/M, Fluff, Romance, and maybe some other things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-09-27 02:13:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 4,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9945719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linguini/pseuds/Linguini, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucyemers/pseuds/Lucyemers
Summary: It's late 1940, and England's at war, as seen through the letters of Lance Corporal Fred Thursday and his fiancee, Win.





	1. 29th September 1940

Dear Winifred,  
As promised, I’m sending you the address for letters (or packages, if you ever finish that jumper you’ve been knitting...) You wouldn’t enjoy it here, I don’t think--to hot and dry to grow anything. Some of the boys ignored [-----------] advice, and are already burnt red as Mrs. Jenkins’s roses. They are very uncomfortable when it comes time to practise any maneouvers.

I can’t tell you yet when we’ll be home. I’ve heard Certain People are making assurances that we’ll be home by Christmas. I wouldn’t put much stock by them, if I’m honest. I don’t see this ending easily or quickly. But end it will, and if there’s any justice in the world, it will end on the side of right.

Take care of yourself and mind how you go.

Fred


	2. 10th October 1940

10th October 1940

Dear Fred,

I’ll have you know I’m making a good deal of progress with that jumper! Though I would be making much more progress if Ruth were to help out a bit more around the shop. But I can’t fuss too much about her walks and trips to the pictures. I have a feeling the way her new lad talks when he comes to dinner that it won’t be long before he finds some way of doing his own part in all this, even being so young. 

I do hope you have a bit more sense than to be sunburned already. Are the evenings hot too? Are you keeping warm enough? Socks go quicker than a jumper so if you’re in need of those, just ask. Or whatever you’re in need of. I’ll send what I can.

I did visit Mrs. Jameson yesterday. Her roses didn’t survive last week’s early frost. I promised to help her with some vegetables next week. Though I may have to run to the library for a gardening book. I’ve only ever grown flowers. She is left with only two lodgers these days, and mentioned that she hasn’t heard anything from Jim. You know she’d never let on, but I think she’s rather worried. Of course she is. Of course we all are.

I hope Certain People are right. But in case they aren’t, please do look after yourself Fred. 

Yours,  
Win


	3. 18th October 1940

18th October 1940

Dear Win, 

I wish I could say that we had enough young boys here that Richard needn’t bother, but… 

Please pass on my condolences to Mrs. Jenkins over her roses. I’ve Jim under my watchful eye, and he’s doing fine. He’s a credit to his family, and only gets involved in the gambling occasionally. (Perhaps don’t tell her that part.) I’ll have a quiet word with the lad and remind him to write when he has a chance. Failing that, I believe the application of a swift boot to the seat of wisdom should manage quite well.

I am not in need of socks, nor really of anything else, so don’t go to any trouble. One of the boys received a scarf from his grandmother yesterday--10 feet long if it’s an inch, and bright red. I don’t imagine he’ll find much use for it, cold nights notwithstanding.

The captain’s calling, so I must go. Take care of yourself.

Fred


	4. 27th October 1940

27th October 1940

 

Dear Fred,

 

I'm sending you packages and there's the end of it. So you might as well tell me what you want. And you might as well tell me now. I don't know how long I may be able to get certain things. 

 

Don't be too hard on Jim. He's a good lad just easily swayed by those he admires. Just a word from you should set him right then. 

 

We've been dancing this evening, Ruth and Richard and I. You needn't be jealous. There were hardly any dance partners to be had. Richard is rather hopeless with the steps. You'll have to teach him yourself when you come home. He was in a bit of a mood. I don't think he feels right about being here now. The lack of other boys this evening hit him hard. I left them arguing in whispers in the sitting room. Mum will hurry Ruth up to bed soon and I'm bound to hear all about it. 

 

But I shouldn't worry you with our problems here. You just keep safe. 

 

All my love,  
Win


	5. 9th November 1940

9th November 1940

Dear Fred,

I’m not sure if you’ll have heard, but in case you had, I wanted to let you know I’m safe. London is the same as it ever was--bustling and proud and gritty, and no amount of bombs dropping from the sky will ever change that.

Mrs. Jenkins has unearthed a packet of seeds that I’m positive are from Queen Victoria’s reign. We are planting them with very low hopes--the better to be surprised if they do grow. I’m afraid I’ve had to make do with what I can remember from school, though. The library seems terribly short of gardening books. Everyone seems to have the same idea!

I know it probably doesn’t need saying, but I thought I’d ask in any case. You weren’t actually offended by the joke about being jealous of Richard, were you? 

Keep yourself safe.

All my love,  
Win


	6. 20th November 1940

20th November 1940

 

Dear Fred,

 

Quite a lot has happened since my last letter. Richard finally got the chance to “do something” as he has been talking about for so long. Ruth has been nearly sick with worry, but as it turns out he’s to report to Oxford and serve in the Home Guard. Didn’t pass the hearing test. He’s less than pleased, and Ruth is rather loudly relieved and this does not help his mood. He’ll come round. At least now he has some sort of work. I think the way he see’s it now he feels as if he’s been cheated out of some great adventure, but I am very sure what he is imagining is rather different from how things are for you day to day, wherever you are. 

 

Aside from Ruth and Richard being at odds about how to feel about his leaving for Oxford, I have been at odds with Mum and Dad. They’re leaving at the end of the week for Oxford as well. They’ll stay with Mum’s sister until they can find a place of their own. I’ve decided to stay, to continue training to be a nurse. They don’t like this, but I’m set on it. If they can understand Richard’s need to “do something” I don’t see why they can’t understand mine.

 

If only you were here to talk through all this with me, a silly thought, because of course if you were here and all was right I wouldn’t be having this fight with them at all.. You always help me think a bit clearer though, in any case.  
I do wish I knew how things are for you. Writing’s the last thing you have time for I’m sure, but just a line, to know you are safe. 

 

All my love,

 

Win


	7. 24th November 1940

24th November 1940

Dear Fred,

I don’t know that I trust this ‘BFPO’ business. I imagine you sitting on some cot in the middle of...wherever you are, thinking no one at home cares enough even to write a letter.

Know that it’s not true. There are many of us who care very, very deeply for you. Some of us even miss you!

Write when you get a moment?

All my love,   
Win


	8. 26th November 1940

26th November 1940

Dear Fred,

I am convinced now that our letters have been lost in some cold, unfeeling sorting room in the Outer Hebrides or something. If that is the case, I imagine they’ll be tossed and jumbled in some large hessian bag, until they at last find each other.

You’ll forgive me a flight of fancy, I hope. I’ve worked a long shift, and the shelter is not the best for comfort. There’s not a spot of tea to be had in the place!

You’ll also forgive me the smudges on this letter? There is only an old crate to write on, and this grease pencil I found under the bench to write with.

Please be safe. I miss you terribly.

All my love,  
Win


	9. 28th November 1940

28th November 1940

My dear Win,  
Please don’t mistake silence for neglect. There’s not been much time to write, or when there is time, there is no light.

I think about you often.

Fred


	10. 9th December 1940

9th December 1940

 

Dear Fred,

I was glad to get your letter. I’m so glad you’re safe. 

I have never thought you neglectful. Don’t you think it. 

I don’t have much to report except that I have kept busy. The training has become more practical recently what with the most recent bombings, so I am learning quickly. I don’t mind the business. Even with the injury and destruction I think it’s better to be here helping. I can’t blame anyone for leaving, but it is odd to see the city feeling a bit empty at times, but then when the shelter or hospital is particularly crowded I think I must be mistaken about the feeling. 

I have been trying to persuade Mrs. Jenkins to leave town, but I think she feels that she should be there for Jim’s letters, and for Jim should anything happen. I can’t say I blame her. I can tell that the sleepless nights are taking a toll on her so I have been helping her out round the house a bit. 

And now I’m afraid I should go and get some sleep while I can. I think of you all the time. I want you to know that. 

Keep safe.

All my love,

Win


	11. 16th December 1940

16 December 1940

Dear Fred,

I don’t think I slept more than an hour last night, and then as I was trying to find some strength in my one cup of weak coffee, Jane from across the hall starts fretting about Christmas. I will be honest, it’s been the last thing on my mind. I nearly forgot it was December. Between early shifts at the shop, late shifts at the hospital and taking shelter until 4 a.m. who would have time to think of gifts and puddings? And where would we get the fruit for it, or afford the nuts? I can quote you prices but I won’t. I shouldn’t think that way. We could do with the cheer of it all. I suppose this Christmas might be the closest we’ve had to the first holiday itself: taking shelter in a poorly heated structure with animals lowing. (And by lowing I mean the cat that Mrs. Cravens from across the street insists on bringing into the shelter whenever the sirens start. I could have sworn he was deaf but the sounds spook him just the same.) 

What nonsense from home I’m sending you! I hope it makes you laugh. I’d like to send you something for Christmas, but there isn’t much exciting to send, so I’m forwarding the jumper that’s caused me no end of frustrations. Overlook the mistakes. And as always I’m sending my love. 

Keep safe, Fred.  
I miss you.

Yours,  
Win


	12. 24th December 1940

24th December 1940

W-- No paper to hand, so the back of this wrapper will have to do. Happy X-mas. I miss you. F


	13. 25th December 1940

25th December 1940

Dear Win,

I find myself with some time on my hands--short though it may be. I have received your letters, and have read every one. They are kept inside my jacket, just in case we’re forced to move out quickly. I would sooner lose my left boot than any of them.

I hope your family has come around to your (our) way of thinking. There is a country that needs protecting, a city that needs healing, and it falls to those of us who can to do it. I imagine you’re already the best nurse in the programme, hands down. Just...take care of yourself. You’re no good to anyone dead on your feet.

Would you please pass on my thanks to Mrs. Jenkins for the seeds? Though, I don’t expect to have much chance to plant them. The sand is here not amenable to farming, and there isn’t much water to be found flowing. And it’s as warm as the city in July still. 

We’ve been on the trot for a bit now, and the boys are tired. But they’re tough--well trained, eager, sturdy things. They’ll make it through.

You are, as ever, in my thoughts.

Fred


	14. 25th December 1940

Dear Fred,

Merry Christmas! It was quite the Christmas Eve. I don't know if you remember Mrs. Jenkins’s niece Edith? She's come to stay with her now that her husband is away and has been a tremendous help to me at the shop whenever she can as Mrs. Jenkins and I have been helping with her daughter Alice. (She's five, and has an absurd amount of energy even when she's got a terrible cold as she does now.) Last night as I was coming home late from the hospital the sirens started when I was about a block away from Mrs. Jenkins's so I stopped in. We spent most of the small hours of the morning in the cellar with Alice coughing and crying and in a panic that Father Christmas would think we weren't here and forget about her. At first she had her doubts, but I managed to convince her that Father Christmas and I were great friends, and that I’d already written to tell him that she might be in the cellar on Christmas Eve, not to worry. I have you to thank for her faith in all this. Her eyes lit up and she said, “That’s who you’re always writing to!” I was so tired I didn’t go into particulars. She was so relieved she hugged me and shortly thereafter fell asleep in my lap. 

Just before the sun rose I put her to bed while Edith ensured that Father Christmas did come (he’s left some chocolate and an orange--he may have had some help here from me--I’ve been saving my coupons for weeks) and a pair of mittens (might want to avoid wearing that jumper around Alice when you get home. Or else just tell her the Christmas elves fashioned it out of the same wool as her mittens?) And now it sounds as if they’ve all finally dropped off to sleep after the night’s excitement and we’ll all try to get a few hours rest before Alice wakes to her stocking. Christmas is something else entirely with children. I didn’t know I could love the holiday more than I already do, and didn’t think I could manage the joy this year, but Alice has seen to that bit for me. If I do have to spend Christmas Eve without sleep and without you, then I think this way will do. At least for this year.

I’d rather be home in my own bed, but Mrs Jenkins insists that I must be too tired for the rest of the walk home and has made up the sofa. I’d be more comfortable in your old room, but to this day she doesn’t know I’ve so much as crossed that threshold and that’s how I’m keeping it. (Besides it’s taken by one of the other girls from the hospital these days.) 

And now I’m finding it hard to keep my eyes open. 

I miss you Fred.  
I love you.  
Come home safe.

Win


	15. 30th December 1940

30 December 1940

Dear Fred,

I received your letter today. It’s always a comfort to hear from you. My family has not come around as you say to our way of thinking. I think it is becoming less and less likely that they will. 

Last night the sirens started around six, while I was still at the hospital. We took shelter there and there was an all clear after only a few hours. But fire from the bombs had managed to catch and there was so much burning. When we got out to the street it was like daytime, and warm. The hospital hadn’t been damaged. And as far as I could tell there was nothing burning nearby so I stayed. There were people in with injuries and burns throughout the night, and I got home about six this morning. 

And Fred, Mrs. Jenkins’s house is ruined. She is safe. Edith and Alice are safe. All three of them are here with me. As to the rest of the lodgers I’m not sure. I ran across the girl that has your old room in the hospital last night so I know she’s alright. The rest I’m not sure. I haven’t told Mum and Dad this. They may have phoned in the night. I don’t know. I haven’t managed the walk to the shop yet so I don’t know what state it might be in. They’ll want me to leave I know it. I won’t. I’m staying. Please tell Jim about the house. I told Mrs. Jenkins I would ask you to. Gently as you can. And let him know she’s safe with me. 

Keep safe. I miss you terribly.

Yours,  
Win


	16. 14th January 1941

14 January 1941

Dearest Win,

I have started and re-started this letter more times than I care to admit. I have nothing to say about your news save this: Britain is resilient, and its people even more so. I know that we are in the right, and (if enough people defend it) rightness will win out. have every faith in your hands and your heart. 

I’ve told James (he is to be addressed so now, apparently, as it seems Jim is a name for a boy), and he has taken it solidly. There’s a new glint in his eye, and a fierceness to him. The Germans underestimate what hell they’ve unleashed. We’re not the only two from our patch out here…

In any case, don’t fret about me. Nothing here has a patch on Saturday night after pay’s out, and I have every intention of returning to you and our lives together.

Be safe, Win.

Fred


	17. 19th January 1941

19 January 1941

Dear Fred,

You may have started and restarted your letter more times than you can count but your words have set me right. As they always do. I don’t mind telling you that I have read it more times than I can count. I have been so very tired. I know the city is resilient, you couldn’t be more right. I see it every day, more often than not in the small ways that life improbably goes on. But your faith in my own resilience, that’s what I am most grateful for. It is what I have needed most in moments of exhaustion, which have threatened to overwhelm me more than I care to admit. 

I finally went round to Mum and Dad’s shop. There is very little of the roof left as the sparks from the fire must have caught. There wasn’t much that would have been fit to sell. Dad visited last week (perhaps I should have told him that there were three new people living in his house. He was a bit taken aback, but he is not heartless and made their acquaintance in his own businesslike way.) We’ve had a row. I knew we would. They have decided to stay in Oxford, and can’t understand why I won’t come with them. I have been suspecting they would since they left London. Oxford has always been home for them. I had always thought it was my home too but...when I saw your old house in ruins I could feel my mind changing about that. How could I leave now? They’ve destroyed my home. 

When all of this is finished, you and I will make a new home wherever we are, I’m sure of it. Until then, keep safe, and know that I miss you terribly and think of you always.

Yours,   
Win


	18. 15th January/29th January 1941

15th January/29th January

My dearest Win,

Today, one of the boys saw a camel spider (I’ve told you about those? They’re the size of a dinner plate and are faster than a man when they run.) and near about jumped out of his skin. They don’t hurt humans, but that’s not stopped some of the boys making up tales for the young ones, especially the ones who need bringing down a peg or two, and this Matthew is one of those. In his fright, he picked up the nearest thing and threw it at the spider, I suppose in the hopes that it would scare it away, which it did. Unfortunately, the ‘nearest thing’ happened to be a bottle of Soir de Paris that Smithy acquired the last time we were in a town, and now the whole tent reeks of it. It’s especially bad as a sandstorm’s come and we can’t roll up the flaps, so we just have to be content with our lot of smelling like a clutch of old French 

\----

It’s two weeks since I started this letter now, I’m not sure why I just told you that story except maybe in the hopes it might make you smile, just for a second of relief from the enormous tension. I’ve only just got your letter dated the 19th, so maybe I’m even more glad I’ve wrote it?

In any case, when this war is done and we are finally (finally!) married, we can build our home anywhere you want. It will be ours to start a family in, something safe and new we make with our own hands. Keep your head up and remember that I love you, for whatever small comfort that can give.

Be brave, Win.

Fred


	19. 9th February 1941

9th February 1941

Dear Fred,

I’ve been giggling over your story since I read it. Probably because it reminds me so much of how relentlessly you and Ruth teased Richard over his fear of mice. Poor lad. I know he tried his best to hide it from you both. When Ruth does write me these days her talk is only of what is happening in Oxford. It sounds like Richard is starting to take to it quite well. She doesn’t say much about what is happening here. Dad claimed she was feeling unwell when he last visited, though I think she is more scared to come than anything and I can’t blame her for that.  
I can’t say that I mind the company of having four people in our house again. Edith and Mrs. Jenkins have taken over much of the washing up and cooking as I am at the hospital more now without a shop to mind. Edith will most nights wait until I am home and sit with me while we share a late supper. And Alice has more than once woken me in the morning to do her hair before school so that she can share with me all the stories of her classmates goings on, or the wild dreams she has had in the night that she has already bored her mother with a dozen times over. 

As I write this Mrs Jenkins has gone out and Edith is walking Alice to school and I’m sitting alone in the house for the first time in weeks. My tea has gone cold. And I really must rush out. But while I’m alone and have a moment to myself I want you know that I am spending it thinking of the home you spoke of in your last letter. I don’t care where it is as long as you are there. As long as we can set about filling it quite quickly. I love you Fred. Come home safe.

Yours,

Win


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find our Fred in sentimental mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](http://i2.mirror.co.uk/incoming/article5151152.ece/ALTERNATES/s615b/PAY-Valentines.jpg) is the card Fred sends Win, in case you're curious.

14 February 1941

Win,  
5 minutes until we leave. One of the boys wasn’t using this card, so... The only thing wrong is the bloke on the front doing the caressing. I’m sure I could do much better. Hope you’re well and staying warm--I know how draughty the flat gets in winter. It’s warm here still, but I can’t recommend it as a place for rest and relaxation. Though if you were here, we’d make do.

Be brave Win. Not long now.

Your Fred


End file.
